Devour You
by grimey-gal
Summary: It all comes to a head.


_Years- _it had been years since Andy had last seen him, although his faded-jean blue eyes had been everywhere in his dreams since the day they split paths for the very first time. He can still feel the warming, boiled over anger that he felt inside at the nonchalant untroubled demeanor he'd held, that same uncaring glaree still in the glint of his still plastic eyes, while Andy seemed to be falling apart at the seams, barely able to keep it together. It was infuriating, the power that Chucky still held over him, although he likes to think he had done very well of not showing it.

And now they live together. Everyday he wonders if he'd made the right choice.

Hand clenching around the neck of a bottle, he finds himself sweating at the palms, although he cannot find the source of it all. Thinking of Chucky has never left him in heat before. Usually, the anger is cold and numbing, until he cannot feel anything anymore. This time, it sears through his body, and all he can do is _feel_. His hand shakes, his grip tightening.

He wants Chucky to _choke_.

"Andy, you all good over there?" Kristen peers at him across the counter. The cafe, which has now become hers since the previous owner retired and left it to her, is slow now that the evening chill has driven everyone home, presumably to loved ones or things that cozy them at night. Jess is in the back, packing up with her band. Andy can hear their haphazard voices floating from behind the velvet curtain of the small dimly lit stage. He shakes himself out of his bloodthirsty reverie, giving an empty grin at her. Her grimace alerts him that he is not convincing.

"You know what it is," he waves her off, and she nods, not entirely understanding. But when it comes to his situation with Charles Lee Ray, she is well educated on how convoluted it all is. He has always admired the way she manages to ease it down, despite how horrific.

"You can't stand him again, huh?" she asks, and he nods, taking another swig, needing a stronger drink. Beer is not enough. He downs the rest of it, and looks at her placatingly.

"I know you hate being an enabler, but can you _please _just give me one shot…?"

He cannot even finish the sentence. She pulls out a flask from under the counter, sighing. "I _do _hate it- but this is an exception," she says, sliding it to him. "I'm not a complete buzzkill."

He grins in relief and gratitude, taking the flask almost immediately. The buzz of the liquor calms him a bit, but it does not take away the sting of what he feels for Chucky.

"The _worst _part is," he begins to babble, the alcohol running his tongue, "I don't know _what _it is that I'm feeling when it comes to him right now." He knows he is beginning to fall under the influence, and Kristen glances over towards the stage worriedly. She waves a hand, signaling to lower his volume.

"You know Jeevie and I don't mind all that," she hushes, leaning in, "But anyone else, you know…" she drifts off. Andy sulks into his drink, the swirl of emotions still festering inside him, an infected wound.

"You're going home still though, knowing he will probably be there?" she asks. He nods, despite the sinking feeling of shame. Can a person be an addiction? He's never really studied enough on it to find out.

"Keep the flask, then," Kristen says. "You'll need it."

Little does she know.

The door seems to drag over the flooring in his apartment as he swings it closed, nearly forgetting to lock it behind him. He has nothing to fear anymore, really; the worst has happened. Nothing surprises him now. He flicks the light on, revealing his long overdue cleaning in front of him, and he sighs it away, immediately finding refuge against the arm of his couch, draping his own arm over the side. He fiddles around with the remote until he is numb enough to not be bothered by the mindless white noise of the television in front of him. He lights a half smoked joint in front of him, brooding unnecessarily. He can't help it though, he thinks. Even with all of his usual distractions, he cannot seem to shake his edge as of late.

He stays like this, restless and his heart all over his chest until he hears the familiar patter of footsteps crossing his floor. He doesn't know where Chucky has come in from, as he didn't hear the door, but he supposes it really does not matter. Chucky always finds a way, when he wants something. Or someone.

The idea of it awakens a strange hunger in him. He is too crossfaded to pretend it does not intrigue him.

"I know you're here," he says, and he can almost _hear _that crooked grin, even with the flashing of the television. It is late night tv. He sees the tips of Chucky's shoes. His eyes are bright, even in the darkness. It is an oddly appealing aesthetic, but Andy has accepted that nothing he is will ever fit in the status quo.

"Oh, so you're not such a stupid little _bitch _after all," that cocky voice finally gruffs out, and Chucky steps forward, trademark knife in hand. It's bloodied from stories Andy does not care to hear, although this time, it is not because he is altogether disgusted by what he might discover, but because he is interested in another thing entirely. His heart thumps in the base of his throat, and his the tips of his fingers are prickling with the anticipation of an unknown possibility. He doesn't respond to Chucky's little quip, although it makes him boil in the most primal way. He just takes another hit, turning his gaze back towards the television, pretending to care about late night sales on vintage watches and once in a lifetime deals on leatherbound classic collections.

Chucky crosses the living room floor, bare feet padding against the wood. It is strange that at this point, Andy has become entirely accustomed to Chucky being so at home in his apartment, as if he had ever really wanted him to stay. He cannot deny that they are both unwillingly intrigued by each other, but right now, he cannot seem to decide on whether he wants him here, or out of his sight. It is a harrowing thing. His heart flips under its cage, threatening to jump right out of him and have its way.

Chucky taps his hand with his knife, and a hungry rushing swells inside of him. He turns and scowls. "Don't you have _anywhere _else you could be?" he asks, although he already knows the answer. "I could decide to end you tonight."

"As if I'd let you," Chucky sneers, and _oh, _Andy wants to _break _him. He wants to feel him fall apart in his hands. He wonders if this is how Chucky feels with all of his victims in the hunt, prior to bringing them down. The blood in his veins feels so hot. Maybe it's the alcohol. He cannot even feel the slightest threat from the knife in Chucky's hands, he is so hyper-focused on how he wants to bring Chucky to ruin.

"Oh- does that make you _mad_, little boy?" Chucky is taunting him now, reading his mind, as he always has, and always will. Andy can never escape him. He wonders if he haunts Chucky at all in the same way, or if he is no different from anyone else Chucky has ever tormented.

Then again, Chucky is not sitting on anyone else's couches, reaching for their remotes to change their channels on their televisions.

"Knock it off," Andy growls, and he is almost shocked at how low his voice scrapes out of his throat. Chucky seems a bit taken aback by it as well, nearly recoiling and giving him a scrupulous glance over. For a minute, Andy believes Chucky may be intimidated. But the fleeting look of fear in Chucky's eyes passes, and that crooked grin crosses his face again.

"Ooh, look at you all big and bad now, huh? Sometimes I forget you're all grown up." Andy cannot tell if he is being serious or just patronizing him to get a rise. He turns back to the television, swiping the remote back and searching listlessly, trying to numb himself away from the situation. His mind lingers on the way Chucky's voice shook though, almost as if he was asking for something.

He feels the cold and sticky press of the blade against his neck, and he just reacts instinctually, turning and grabbing Chucky's pudgy little hand and thrusting him against the couch arm, adrenaline coursing and at the ready. "I _said,_" he demands, and this time he _knows _that he is feeling his chest rumble. "Knock. It. _Off_."

Chucky's pupils dilate, which Andy finds strange, because he didn't think that Chucky's body would allow him to do that, but Chucky's eyes have always been the most human part of his body. Even holding his wrist, Andy can feel a pulsating thrumming, as if veins had started to form underneath the plastic skin. He wouldn't be surprised if they had.

But, really, he is not all that interested in how Chucky is forming in this body. He wants the roaring in his head to stop, and the heat pooling in his belly to cool. Chucky has to leave, _now_. "Get _out_," he says, loosening his grip. Chucky does not move, his eyes still trained on him. Andy can see the shine of the blue in his iris. It is too bad his eyes are so beautiful - a faded, babysoft hue; it's wasted. Wasted on such a terrible individual.

"You and I both know you don't mean that," Chucky says. His voice is hushed. His grin is still there, but it is faltering. His eyes are darting. Andy knows if he wanted, he could escape right now, make a run into the darkness, and their strange ritualistic cycle could start all over again. But instead, he is creeping towards him, crawling on the couch, hands on his thighs now. "You don't mean that at all."

Andy can feel his fingers digging into the rough fabric of his jeans. He grabs the collar of Chucky's trademark striped shirt. "I'm warning you," he near-threatens, their proximity igniting. "I will take you out."

Chucky squeezes his grip on his thigh, and it pinches so that he growls in pain. "You wanna take me _so_ bad, huh, Barclay? Go ahead and _do _it. Fuckin' _annihalate _me."

Andy almost doesn't hear the ringing in his ears or the way Chucky's head slams against the couch arm as he crushes their lips together. Chucky lets out something of a surprised and muffled moan, before dropping the knife to the floor with a clatter, just to free both his hands to grasp onto Andy's old t-shirt, pulling him in, biting his lip, drawing blood. Andy groans and pulls back, grabbing Chucky's hair just at the nape of his neck, pulling his head back.

"This is _my _game, Chucky. We're going to play _Andy _says now, you got that?"

Chucky struggles in his grip, kicking his feet outwards. Andy scoots up on the couch to lock his knees over Chucky's wriggling body, pinning him in place. He leans in and catches Chucky's earlobe in between his teeth, pulling. Chucky's breath hitches. He does not respond. Andy presses his mouth against Chucky's neck. "I want to hear you say yes," he whispers against the pulsing in Chucky's throat.

Chucky laughs under his breath, panting. "You want this _so _bad, don't you, Andy?" he leers, helpless as he is. "Pervert. Just how long have you been dreaming about having me under you like this?"

Andy spits on him, rage and arousal growing inside him. "About as long as you've been dreaming of having me hold you down like this, you little piece of shit," he replies, watching Chucky's demeanor break just a little bit more. "Admit it."

He tugs at Chucky's hair again, biting his neck. Chucky huffs, but Andy can see him biting his lip, trying hard not to let out any sounds. "Go on," he taunts him, feeling the rush of power ebb into his slowly hardening cock. He nips Chucky again, this time rewarded with Chucky letting out a small, panting whine. "_Beg me for it._"

"Eat me, asshole," Chucky retorts, but is so caught up in his own taunting that he is not prepared for the scrape of Andy's teeth along his earlobe and he does not have the time to try and hold back the loud moaning sound that slips out through his teeth. Andy shifts to grip his leg and his fingers sink so close to where Chucky wants him too. But not quite.

"Pussy," Chucky tries to vex him, but his voice is high-pitched and strained, and it does not quite have the effect he wanted it to. The television in the background is blaring a commercial about some sort of condoms - an advertisement of what (and who) is sure to come.

Andy grins above him, and he can catch the hazel in his eyes even from the low light of the room. "We both know that that's not what you're getting tonight," he teases, nudging his thumb right along the inseam of his overalls. "But I'm sure you're alright with that."

Suddenly his clothes are too tight.

"Andy! You stupid _cunt_!" he hisses, squirming under him in futile. "What're you waiting for? Get your sick little fantasy over with!"

Andy grips his chin and holds his face upward. His cheeks are flushed, but Chucky can feel that his own face is coloring as well. His heart wants to leap right out of his chest and right into Andy's hands. He wants Andy to lean in just a little closer.

"_Say it_," Andy whispers, but his voice is no less powerful. It makes a shiver run down his back. If he were more human, he is sure he would have goosebumps. Andy leans in, but their lips do not touch. He shudders and bites his lip hard enough to have bled, just to stop the whimper that's lodged in his throat. "_Tell me what you want, babydoll._"

"_Augh!_ Fuck-" his voice catches in his throat momentarily, but when Andy only rubs at his inner thigh again, the burning is too much. "_Please! _You asshole…"

Andy chuckles, and _fuck _if it doesn't vibrate throughout his tiny body. The scratch of his beard on his neck, the warmth of his hands and his breath, the smoke in the air - it sinks into him, overtaking him. _Overpowering _him. He cannot find a reason to complain. Andy's fingers are toying with the buttons on his overalls, but he won't make another move. It's unbearably frustrating.

"_Do_ it, you stupid fuck," he hisses, as Andy begins to undress him, agonizingly slow. "Just fucking _devour _me already! I want it!"

Andy doesn't move much further though, simply pinning him down underneath him, trailing his fingers down his cheek, across his lips, down his neck. He tugs gently at the collar of his shirt, and for a moment, Chucky's breath hitches in anticipation. This is it, he thinks. This is happening.

But Andy doesn't do anything else; merely repeating this action, his gentle touching leaving hot, yearning trails behind them. Chucky feels his skin prickle from months of repressed need and want. He does not know how Andy composes his own desire - and wonders if maybe it is _himself_ who's been longing for it more this whole time.

"_Andy…" _he whines, almost embarrassed at how he's starting to break. "_C'mon_ already, you're leaving me hanging here…"

Andy grins, and it's _hungry_. Chucky can feel it in his gut. His heart stutters - he has never known what it was like to be prey. Shamefully, he thinks that if it is Andy who is the predator, he doesn't mind so much. Maybe it's the smoke in the air, or the sole muted light of the television.

Andy's hands slide up around his wrists, pulling his arms up so that they hang over the couch arm, and he shivers, feeling Andy's warm breath on his neck. Their faces are so agonizingly close, and yet Andy does nothing more. They're barely touching, nose to nose, and Chucky wants to explode. He's panting.

"_Please…_" he begs softly, feeling the color rushing to his cheeks. He closes his eyes, unable to take the torture of waiting, of pleading. Andy leans into his ear, kissing him once, barely pressing his lips against him, and the whimper that tears from his mouth is mortifying. "_Please kiss me… _fuck, I can't _take it_ anymore…"

Still pinning his wrists with one hand, Andy tilts his chin up and tenderly bumps their noses together before finally leaning in and kissing him fully. Chucky lifts his head as much as he can, arching upwards to get as close to Andy as he can possibly be, aching. He's been aching for _so_ long for this.

It feels like only moments before Andy pulls away again, and he cries at the loss of contact. "You _asshole_," he moans helplessly, his hands stretching and clenching in Andy's grip. He twists in frustration, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "You're so fucking _unfair_, you know that?"

Andy lets out a deep chuckle, and _God,_ does Chucky want to hit him. Or kiss him. Something. _Anything_. He just wants the contact. He _craves_ it. He feels the coarseness of Andy's beard scraping against his cheek, and he's keening, unable to keep up the pretense that he has ever had any power in this dynamic. Andy presses their lips together again, and he's hungrily kissing him, getting as much as he can before Andy decides to be cruel and pull away again.

Andy bites his lip, teeth pulling at tender skin that will bruise and swell later. Chucky barely has time to let out a yelp when Andy continues further down, pulling his head back by his hair, sucking at the tender flesh of his neck, teeth sinking into him, tongue lapping where he's broken skin. Chucky screws his eyes shut, mouth agape, panting, trying and failing to stop the incessant pleas falling from his mouth.

"God - fuck, _god- fuck,_" he's repeating, as Andy suckles where he's bitten and marked him, claiming him. God - _claiming him_. He cannot stop the rush of arousal. They are fighting a battle and he is losing; he has never felt what that was like before. Not only is this the arousal of experiencing something new, this is him living his guiltiest fantasy.

He thinks to himself that it makes sense though. Hasn't it always been Andy - the one he could never win? Hasn't it always been him, over and over again, bringing him to his knees? It's ironically perfect, that this is how things have become.

Andy is still stalling again now, his hand just barely hovering near his now straining cock. He can feel it pressing against the inseam of his overalls, and he is _aching_ to be touched. Andy pushes his thumb closer, but only continues to kiss him, nipping at his ear, whispering, "Talk to me - I think I deserve your prayers after everything you've fucking put me through."

Chucky growls, temporarily embarrassed. His pride is wounded, but his sexual appetite is growing exponentially in front of him. "Like I'll pray to you for anything," he eggs him on, knocking what it will do. _Wanting_ what it will do. Andy's hand clasps around his throat, and his knee presses against him, rubbing just some but not enough. _Not enough_. Chucky feels himself going lightheaded, and his eyes roll back as he squirms in Andy's grip, desperately trying to gain more pressure, more contact.

"_Fuck_," he gasps, the lack of air only causing his arousal to rise. "Andy, you're… _ah_, so close! _So close_..!"

Andy just brushes their lips together again, laughing against him, and the tears in his eyes finally fall.

"Already?" Andy teases, and _oh-_ he's _so _cruel, licking the tears from his cheeks. "I've barely even started yet; I thought you'd be stronger than this."

"Fuck _off_," Chucky whines, and his voice _cracks_, and he pushes against Andy's hands to no avail. "Fuck off or _fuck me_ already! _Please_!"

"What's that?" Andy asks, and his grin is positively wicked. Chucky can see it glinting in the darkness, and his vision is blurring from the minimal oxygen he's getting. He whimpers softly, struggling in his grip.

Andy watches his former nemesis writhing underneath him, his gut burning hot. He is a little more than nervous, unsure of how to proceed, but it seems Chucky doesn't even know he's stalling out of naivety - instead under the impression that he's playing a cruel joke on him.

All the better. His reactions have been _delicious_ to watch. Andy wants to absolutely _devour_ him, and savor every minute of it. Chucky is already a wriggling little mess, so small and powerless in his hands, and he knows that Chucky wants him to take him farther than this. He is going to destroy him, and then he will build him back up again, all of his trembling little pieces.

"_Please…."_ Chucky is pleading again, thrusting towards him weakly. "Don't make me beg anymore, Andy…. please, _please_ touch me." His voice sounds broken and desperate, stuck on repeat, a cracked record. "_Please… please…" _

"You sound so pretty, saying my name," Andy croons, enjoying immensely the way Chucky colors brightly. His face is twisting, no doubt falling between humiliation and arousal. "Say it again - I might give you what you want this time."

He releases his throat, just to slide his hands down his bruising neck to his shirt. He traces shapes along the stripes, pausing to circle around what feels like hardening nipples. He's never seen Chucky without his trademark look; he wonders what he will look like completely exposed, clothes tossed aside on the floor. He swallows hard, trying to control his own arousal in his jeans.

Chucky's breath hitches, and he releases another soft cry, trying and failing to escape the grip Andy has on his tiny wrists. He had never thought Andy being so much bigger than him would be something he loved, but it is causing _immense_ shivers to run down his back. Andy's gentle fingertip pressing and tickling his nipple is driving him insane, especially with his cock still untouched, save for when he's lucky enough to have Andy's knee bump against it.

"Go on, little thing, say my name," Andy has such a _dirty _mouth. Chucky would have never imagined it. He had read Andy's poetry and writings before, all hidden away in drawers and closets, but none of them had such vivd imagery of how Andy viewed sex. This is throwing him all over the place, and he is overwhelmed.

Andy brushes his knee against him again, fingers pinching and tugging at his nipple intentionally, and he _loses_ it.

"Fi- _fine, fine_!" he screeches, tossing his head back, just desperate for some sweet release. "I _need _you, Andy! I _need _you to _touch_ my cock - _please_, Andy…. _Andy-ah!_"

Andy is palming his cock through his clothes, and he never imagined that something so simple would feel so good, but it _does_, and he's tearing up again, letting his legs fall apart.

"Take me, _take me_," he's moaning, nearly frothing at the mouth. His hands are still imprisoned in Andy's grip, and he feels so small. So _helpless_. Andy pulls his overalls off completely, finally freeing his cock to the cold air in the apartment, and the instant Andy's warm hand makes contact with it, tugging it gently, he curses under his breath, sure he will come right there and then.

"_There_, _there…_" Andy is cooing to him, and Chucky would almost think he was just being gentle, except that crooked grin that he has never seen before is there, and he just _knows_ that Andy is eating up every second of this. "You want me to take you, little one? You want to belong to me?"

It's too much. He can't go that low. The thought is too humiliating for him. But Andy's hand feels so good on his cock, and when he reaches down to caress his balls, tickling him, he can't stop himself. His mouth opens before he can give anything a second thought.

"_Yes_," he moans softly, and it's too late to take it back. Andy knows now. He can't take any of it back. "Make me _yours_, Andy…_oh_ _fuck_, take me_, take me, please…_"

Andy flips him over so easily, it's almost frightening. But he is too aroused to feel frightened, and somehow, he knows Andy will not explicitly try to _damage_ him. Hurt him? A little maybe. Andy bites into the back of his neck and down his spine, and he knows that he will be full of marks tomorrow. A stake claimed. But he knows that Andy will go no further than he wants to go, and that alone is enough to leave him panting and submissive, open and compliant.

Andy brushes his teeth over his tailbone. "Trust me," he murmurs, biting the soft flesh of his ass, drawing out a stuttering sigh from him, "When I'm done with you - you won't forget who fucking _owns_ you."

Chucky opens his mouth to retort, already starting to try to gain some footing, but Andy slaps his ass, hard, and Chucky drops his head against the couch, squirming and yelping with each harsh smack. Andy's hands are strong and firm, and he can feel his wrists and his bottom start to bruise.

"_Andy-_ Andy _please_\- ow, _ow_-_ahh_, _Andy…_!"

His ass is starting to sting, and his eyes are watering; desperation, pain and arousal are building inside him in a huge knot. He doesn't know if he wants to cry or scream - either way, he just wants Andy, he wants Andy inside him, _punishing _him. The desire is burning through him, and he cannot stop crying Andy's name, over and over and _over_.

"Cry for me, babydoll, that's it," Andy coaxes him, his voice low in his ear. His hand is palming his sore bottom, squeezing, prying open. His index finger twirls up and down his taint and just around the rim of his entrance, prodding and teasing. Just barely touching, but Chucky feels as if his hole is on fire.

"Andy - you _fucker_, I'm _serious_ now, I really can't _take_ _it_ anymore."

Andy chuckles softly, enjoying the way Chucky's legs and cock tremble with every touch. He himself is _dying_ to be inside him, to fuck him in every way possible until morning, but this is so mesmerizing to him it's hard to stop. The sheer amount of power he has; he knows he could release his hold on Chucky's arms and Chucky would stay like this, still waiting.

A part of him wants to let go, to stop it all and see how Chucky would react. How he would beg. But Chucky wriggles underneath him again, ass ready and in the air, crying and whining, a complete disaster in his hands, and he runs out of the patience for such a thought.

No matter. Somehow, he knows they will have plenty of chances for that at another time.

He reaches down under the couch, pulling out the bottle of lube he has used on himself so many times, fantasizing about this exact moment. There had been _so_ many times, and he had come each time, feeling instant shame and mortification when the gratification had ebbed away. He twists and flicks the top off, slowly tipping it over, letting it dribble down from the dimples on Chucky's lower back to in between his cheeks. He watches in fascination and delight as Chucky hisses from the cold, slippery liquid, quivering and spreading his legs apart, soft sighs and moans falling from his mouth.

"_Andy, Andy…" _Chucky chants, his face showing his desperate need. His hole twitches, and Andy inhales sharply, biting back a low groan. He presses a finger against his entrance again, sliding the lube around, dipping just the tip of his index finger inside, twisting tenderly.

"_Fu-uck-"_ Chucky keens, and his voice is _so_ soft, _so _sweet, _so_ _needy_ \- Andy wants more than ever to give him everything he is begging for and more. He pushes his index finger inside him, curling and reaching.

Chucky gasps at the intrusion, but is quickly back to babbling again, pushing up as much as Andy's grip will let him, and Andy thinks to himself this is a good look on him. One he wants to see more often.

Andy brushes his finger inside him, and suddenly Chucky sees stars. "Wha- I, what's…." he stutters out, confused and intrigued. Andy laughs and curls his finger just _so_ again, and Chucky's eyes roll to the back of his head. "More, _more_," he demands, shaking. "Do that again!"

"Just wait," Andy assures him, letting go of his hands to hold him down by his head, fingers tugging his hair. "You'll get your fill soon enough."

He shoves a second finger in, and Chucky screams, despite himself. A sudden arousing panic pools in his belly. If this is the sensation from his fingers only, thrusting inside him, his rim burning and aching, he could only imagine how his cock would feel, deep in his gut. He mewls from Andy's fingers and from this thought, his free hands now gripping at an old blanket on the couch.

"Oh_, button,_" Andy taunts, and Chucky flushes at the sudden pet name. He knows Andy is teasing, egging him on, but he can't help that he responds well to it, can't help that Andy knows how to play with him. Sex-addled, he thinks to himself that truly, he _is_ Andy's toy, his plaything. And _god_, does he want Andy to play with him, to _hell_ with his pride right now.

"How are you going to be able to handle my cock? You're already so far gone from just these two fingers, little one."

"Don't you dare, don't you fucking-_ahh_!"

Andy is fingering him with such a strong determination, he is falling apart on the couch, afraid of but craving more at the same time. He is writhing in time to the tempo of Andy's thrusting fingers, legs kicking from the power-couple of pain and pleasure. Andy pulls out and grabs his cock, pausing an oncoming orgasm, and he groans, wishing more than anything he could hide his face. If Andy's grip on his neck wasn't so firm, he would turn his face into the cushions.

"_Please_…that's not fair, _please…_I was _so _close!"

Andy swipes his hand across his sore ass, drawing another harsh cry from his mouth. "As if I'd let you come before you even asked my permission? _Incorrigible_ thing."

Chucky hears Andy unzipping his pants, and the sound alone makes him want to come more than ever, but Andy's hand stays firmly around his erection. He has already been leaking an insane amount of pre-come, it is almost embarrassing.

"Christ - is it possible for you to be so _wet_?"

Chucky is mortified, moaning loudly at this, humiliated. Aroused still. More so than ever - he thinks he might die on this couch. Andy bends over him, pushing the head of his cock between his cheeks, prodding at his hole.

"You're going to take my cock before I even _think_ of allowing you the pleasure of an orgasm," Andy growls, and Chucky squeals. He is _large_; although Chucky cannot tell whether it is because he is already much smaller, or because Andy is large by proportions. Whatever the case may be, he begins to tremble just from the head brushing the rim.

"If you're afraid, you just have to tell me. I'll go slow… _if _you ask nicely."

"_Shit- _You're such a bastard, I can handle your stupid little- _fuck_!" He yelps as Andy pushes his cock in, the burning searing his entrance into his belly.

"Wait, _wait_!" he screams. He can't move; Andy's hand still holds him down, and now that his cock is inside, his other hand is free and pins his arms behind his back. He's trapped, with no way to save himself except to beg. His aching, wet hole stretches around Andy's erection, screaming at its girth. "_Wait, _oh god- _please, I'm sorry_, I was joking, _fuck!_"

"Please _what_?" Andy questions darkly, pressing into him with his weight, pushing his cock in deeper. Chucky cries out, squirming under him, breaking.

"_P-Please," _he sobs, tears falling freely now. "Please go _slow_… fuck, I'm - you're so _big_,"

He's shaking, still accustoming to being so open. Andy is almost impossibly large, but he wants it more than anything now. They've made it this far, and something about the pain is extremely satisfying. It feels right. Andy shifts, mercifully for now, pulling his cock out and then in again, hitting Chucky's prostate with a painful accuracy. Chucky cries, wriggling in a desperate attempt to take him all in, the pleasure finally fizzling in and numbing down the pain.

"Who do you belong to, _button_?" Andy asks, snapping his hips, faster this time, his voice hot in his ear. Chucky shivers, the intense tingling climbing up his spine.

"_Y-you_, Andy!"

"Who _owns _you?"

"_Fuck- you!_ _You_, Andy!_You own me-_ oh _god_, it's _so _much..!"

Andy pushes in, and he begins a slow, even pace, but each time he thrusts in is overwhelming. Chucky feels his lips against his ear, and he whimpers, yearning for his kiss so much so suddenly.

"Andy, _Andy_, please_, please_," is all he can cry out, as Andy begins to pick up the pace. Pinned beneath Andy's hands, all he can do is plead for mercy, and hope Andy grants it. Drool is staining his chin and the couch.

"But of _course_," Andy coos, angling himself upward, closer to his ear. He fucks him a little faster now, but Chucky is lost beyond words, eyes crossing. Andy holds him down tightly as he continues to hit him where he knows it makes him scream, murmuring to him, "I always take care of my things."

Chucky doesn't respond, so he's not sure he's heard, but it is fine either way; Chucky's nonsensical cries of pleasure are enough. The more he screams his name, which is now intertwined with _baby_, _baby_, the closer he gets. Chucky is deliciously tight, and it won't be long before he comes. He wants to paint Chucky's face and remind him who's fucking him and making him scream helplessly. He fucks him harder, faster, ramming his prostate.

"_Ohh -_ won't you make me _come, please_, _baby_," Chucky is weeping, and Andy loosens his grip a little, just enough so he can watch him squirm. "I'm so close, _I'm so close_ \- _please let me come_…"

"_No,_" Andy snarls, slapping his ass, and Chucky sobs, words falling apart into frenzied moans.

_Ah-ah-ah! _

And then he feels himself about to come, and he pulls out and throws Chucky onto the couch on his back, splattering his face and chest.

Chucky feels numb, used, discarded, and worst of all- nothing has made him more aroused. If anything, his cock only aches, dying to be touched. Hands trembling, he reaches for it, only to have his hands slapped away and imprisoned again.

"Andy, _please_…!" he bleats out, devastated. "I'll do anything - _anything_… please let me come! _Please, let me come, Andy_!"

Chucky is squirming madly, thrusting his cock in Andy's hand. Andy watches, amused, at how much Chucky works just to pleasure himself, despite it being him who will ultimately be the one to decide.

He could ruin it. He could ruin the orgasm and leave Chucky a mess, angry and dissatisfied but too worn out to do anything about it. He briefly entertains the idea, but decides he would rather bring him to completion, and have him dirty himself. Perhaps next time.

Pinning his wrists back above his head, Andy takes Chucky's leaking cock in his hand and begins to slowly pump at it, feeling heat course through him at the way Chucky moans in relief, babbling his gratitude and praises. It doesn't take too long before he comes with a soft cry, body immediately going limp in his arms.

"Andy, baby, _baby_…" Chucky is sobbing, tiny, shaking hands reaching for his shirt, and he doesn't have to say anything; Andy knows. He knows what he wants, somehow. Maybe it's the way he's trying to pull him towards him, or the way he's _looking _at him, nothing but pleas and need in his wide eyes. He _knows_. He relents, as Chucky is completely broken, and the aggression has passed now from both of them, the glow of aftersex overpowering everything else, and kisses his forehead and his tear-stained cheeks. He pulls off Chucky's shirt completely, wiping him up. Chucky is trembling terribly in his arms, entirely naked and cold, welcoming his embrace with a desperate sigh of relief.

"I'm here, _I'm_ _here_, button," Andy gentles him, smoothing his hair, rubbing his neck and shoulders. He had teased him earlier, but he had noticed that Chucky had responded well to the pet name, and he responds well now, sighing softly and blushing with a small smile at the corners of his mouth. This time, when Andy looks into his eyes, he thinks perhaps the color is fitting after all.

Chucky curls into him, shrinking as far as he can into his arms, sniffling out his name. He's spent, he's worn out, and Andy still feels so strong but in a different way now, warm and secure. He can't help but hum contentedly at Andy's aftercare, briefly amazed at how he could go from feeling so used to feeling so treasured in merely a few hours. Andy is tenderly kissing the bruises that are surely forming on his body from earlier, and he shivers each time Andy's lips come in contact with his skin.

"How long?" he finally asks, slowly coming down from his orgasm. The tips of Andy's fingers, running up and down his spine, are warm and welcomed. "How _long_ have you been wanting this- wanting _me_?"

Andy, for the first time since the night had started, appears bashful. "I'll tell you if you tell me," he replies, kissing his cheeks.

Chucky colors at this. "Never mind then," he whispers, voice small, and tucks his head back into Andy's chest, nearly purring at how nice his fingers feel against his skin. The air conditioning kicks on and he shivers, goosebumps almost forming, and Andy pulls him in closer, covering him.

Something buzzes, and Andy checks his phone on the coffee table, paling when he reads it. "_Fuck," _he groans, sitting up to answer it. Chucky whines softly and curls into his lap, still cold and overstimulated and needy.

"Hey, Kristen," he grunts, trying hard to pretend that he's not sitting on the couch cradling his worst enemy after fucking his brains out. His voice shakes more than he'd like, but he hopes he can sound casual enough. "Thanks for the drink. What's up?"

"Alright, 'fess up," Kristen greets, her voice shaky. "Who topped?"

Andy chokes. "I'm sorry… _what?"_ he asks, trying not to alert Chucky, who is dozing against his chest, still whimpering his name even in sleep. He angles his face away, whispering harshly into the phone. "How much have you and Jeeves been smoking?"

"Don't lie to me," Kristen presses. "I can hear it in your voice. Just tell me who did it to who." She sounds conflicted, like there is a gun being held to her head. Her voice lowers. "It's okay if _he_ fucked _you_, you know… there's no shame in being submissive…"

"I- what? No, I … it was the other way around, okay? What's going on?" he asks, and he hears Jeeves in the background, shouting.

"You _owe _me, Krissy!" she's exclaiming.

"You _bet_ on this?" Andy asks, mortified. Then, worse, "And _you_ bet I would _bottom_?!"

"I'm _sorry_!" Kristen groans, sounding truly apologetic. Jeeves howls in the background, clearly amused. "I didn't think you would… I didn't think you…"

"You thought _Chucky_…?" he pauses, looking down to check on the person in question, who was fast asleep. "I can't believe you're my supposed best friend. You _Judas_."

"It was Jeevie's idea!" Kristen argues. He can imagine her face right now. Jess is lost in her laughter; Andy can barely hear Kristen over her.

"Well, you were wrong, so pay up," he grunts, a little amused himself. "And for your information, I tore him a new one."

"_Stop_ \- I don't wanna know, I'm hanging up, bye!" Kristen screeches, and the dial tone clicks. Andy rolls his eyes, setting the phone back on the coffee table. He sighs heavily, lighting the joint for one more hit before tucking Chucky into his arms, stumbling the both of them to his bed.

AN: I highly debated whether I should upload this or not, as it is kind of out of line from where I have these characters right now. But I know you all are horny heathens, so I posted it anyways.


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